Kilimanjaro, last 1 of 2: Stop talking to my chest.

I have absolutely no real idea what women deal with as people look elsewhere than their eyes when speaking to them. At 6’6”, I only have a passing familiarity. For these many decades, I’ve hunched over so I could join a conversation, or at least hear a little better. Along with gravity, it means I am much shorter after dinner than when I wake. 

On Kilimanjaro, though, it was a threat. One tends to lean into the hill one climbs. Bending down forward especially as you hoist yourself up 500 vertical feet of 2’ volcanic stairs. Shortened Breathing and resulting massive headaches dominated the first three nights. I was desperate. 
I saw so many others in far worse physical shape, even those without limbs I take so for granted, but most dealing well with the altitude. 
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Then the fourth day, and a kind of screw it attitude, and spread wide the chest, breath big and full, and look up. As soon as a headache started, back up with the shoulders and breath it away. Keep the head up. If you can’t hear someone, screw it. Breath. Ask them to stop talking to the tits. 
They say you should “lean in,” a metaphor for getting involved. I’m gonna lean up. Talk to my eyes. Sorry they’re all the way up here. All my mom’s fault!